The violet eyes of Malfoys
by BlasphemyMaker
Summary: AU! Harry Potter isn't all that he seems, nor are the Malfoys. As Harry and Draco begin there first years at Hogwarts, they realize that they are more similar than they think.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own nothing!

**The Violet Eyes of Malfoys**

By Blasphemy Maker

Prelude

Pain, suffocation… 

A small boy tossed in his sleep, crimson hair soaked with sweat, caked with soil, grime, and blood. He kicked at the door of his cupboard, involuntarily soaking his flimsy cot with urine.

His eyes were tightly closed, small fists kneading at his forehead, lost in the sickest of dreams.

Burning, heat, freezing, ice, suffocation, soul splitting pain… 

A slightly larger boy, tangled in blankets, rolled off his bed, platinum blond hair also soaked in sweat, kicked at the floor as he hit the stone bottom. His eyes were forcefully closed, his slender fingers scratching at his abdomen, caught in a dream that did not belong to him at all.

Anguish, burning infection, blood, bones breaking, and blood filled the river he was being bathed in. Breeding disease in his skull and abdomen as torture. Hands ghosting over, invading all things personal. Being ripped from a slowly weakening heartbeat, the only one that had loved him. Pain, burning, freezing, cold, suffocation, drowning, shattering, damaged, broken…

The small boy removed his fists from his forehead, revealing, bleeding profusely, a lightning bolt scar received at the young age of one year. He clawed at his abdomen as if attempting to remove something growing on the inside. He drew blood as his broken fingernails tore through cloth and stark white skin. His lower body was now drenched in urine, like acid it burned welts on to his flesh

Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. Pain. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. PAIN. Rusted knifes slicing into the butter flesh of babes. Sickly attempts to cut out ones heart.

At the same exact moment, in two separate parts of the world, two different boys, with different back round's eyes shot open. One revealing stark violet with milky irises of red, the other violet with sharp irises of mercury blue.

One screamed, letting out a blood curdling sound. The other simply gasped, biting his tongue to refrain from screaming and waking his relatives. He drew blood as he bit down so hard, the urge to scream deafening.

The larger boy, screaming himself horse, was noticed immediately by his father, soon being cradled in his arms.

The smaller boy, tears slowly running down his face, noticed his newly formed welts, seeping blood, and urine, but he knew that nothing could be done. He felt a warm pressured heart beat at his side. He knew no one was there, just the after effect of his routine nightmares.

* * *

Harry Potter tied his long, cherry hair back, his violet eyes rimmed with red. He picked up a grey rag and sopped up the blood from his scar and abdomen, glancing at his other scars as he did so, then proceeded to realize that it was his last remaining remotely clean shirt in his cupboard. He shrugged, pulling it on, laced up his ancient frayed high tops, and exited his cupboard, intent to produce an all American breakfast for the Dursleys. 

Crack the eggs, slice the ham, fry the bacon, stir the porridge, squeeze the orange juice, don't ask questions, don't back sass me!

Harry laughed out loud at that last part, remembering his aunt's lesson.

He placed down the three plates at the three places at the small round table… meant for three!

Harry cooks but doesn't get rations until his relatives are done ingesting his byproducts.

Harry's small frame, bathed in malnutrition, slid over a puddle of blood still seeping from his abdomen. He threw out his sharp, spindly limbs, his bones jutting out.

Mopping up the blood, he wiped dried blood off his scar, and stared as his Aunt, Uncle, and cousin trapezed into

the kitchen, their massive frames heavily weighing on the small wooden chairs.

Dudley loaded food onto his pristine white plate, coating it in oil.

Whilst stuffing his inhumanly large, pink face, Dudley made a satisfied noise, quickly covering it up with disdain.

"Dad, my bacon isn't crispy enough, make it make more!"

Harry's uncle Vernon reared his large, purpling head. Harry, who'd been soaping up the pan, froze slightly.

"You heard Dudley, Boy! Make him more bacon."

Harry nodded. Remaining silent usually pleased the Dursleys.

Whilst Harry's back was turned, he sucked in a strengthening breath.

"You know you have to let me go, right?" He said, slightly humored.

* * *

Draco Malfoy woke up hours later, lying soundlessly next to the pool that was his fathers long, platinum hair. 

He smelled magical antiseptic coming from his lower half and wondered how much damage he had done during last night's nightmare. His throat was sore, from all the screaming obviously, he could taste the blood on his tongue from his throat.

Pulling himself apart from his father and off of his bed, he strode over to his lavatory and stared himself down in the mirror.

White-blond hair, similar but more ethereal than his father's, hung in slightly limp strands on his sharp shoulders.

He looked at his teeth, so sharp, so white, but appeared slightly dull from grounding them down throughout the night.

Draco Orion Malfoy. So lonely, so beautiful, so unnatural, so unflattering.

Draco sat in a low backed chair, pulling on silver socks under black boots. Examining his self-inflicted wounds from the night before, he saw that his father had already healed them. He pulled a black and silver robe on over his head and looked at his father sprawled out on his bed. He smiled slightly; he loved his father dearly, but knew he was with holding secrets from him. Now, that didn't make him love him any less, it simply made him paranoid.

His father stirred, then shot up as if he could feel Draco's eyes on him, scanning him like muggle technology.

"Hello father."

"Draco, are you alright?" Lucius asked, standing up, waving his wand at his hair, it immediately twisted itself into an elegant not at the base of his neck.

"Fine." He smiled broader. "Sev will be here in half an hour."

Lucius's pale lilac eyes twinkled somewhat. "I know, you're ready to go to Diagon Ally? You have your list?"

Draco nodded. His sharp eyebrow slanted upward as he eyed his father.

"Going to dress appropriately?"

Lucius frowned. "You are so petulant."

"You sound like Severus."

Lucius rolled his eyes.

* * *

Harry, red haired and unaccompanied, entered Diagon Alley at noon after being bodily thrown from the Dursley's SUV 10 minutes prior. He did figure that he would spend the last month before his escape to this so-called 'Hogwarts' school, so he did not fret when his uncle had yelled to not come back, and that his guts were hated, not that it mattered. 

When the archway opened, Harry peered at the immense surroundings and blinked.

There were so many humans, countless beings ranging from stout little witches to Giant-type creatures.

Harry, in his slight agoraphobic fame, began to sweat, his bangs growing soppy in his eyes.

Reaching up and grasping the thin ruby circlet resting around his neck, he ventured on, purposely mumbling a song under his breath to keep himself focused.

"If you fool yourself, you will make him happy,"

Harry strode on, towards his destination that was the main Wizarding bank. Along the way he saw children with their parents, and others who looked vaguely familiar.

"And if you cut yourself, you will think you're happy, he'll put you in a jar and you'll think you're happy,"

Harry noticed that people were beginning to notice him in a negative light. He proceeded to walk faster and sing inside his head. Being slightly insane doesn't necessarily have to remain public, nor does being slightly unstable, or cross at times, or morbid. Keep it to your self.

And if you save yourself, you will think you're happy, he'll cover you with grass and you'll think you're happy,

Harry, who'd seen a small swarm of people, closed his eyes tightly. When he'd opened them again he was lying flat on his back on the dirt road. Right beside him was an apothecary, and a tall man, black hair long and shiny, black eyes like obsidian depths. He was dusting himself off and mumbling about what sounded like 'damn crowds'.

The man thin looked down.

"Are you alright?" the man asked, hunching over and extracting his hand for Harry to grasp.

Harry's hand shook slightly as he grasped the man's hand, using it as an anchor to pull himself up.

"F-fine. Thank you." Harry said, steadying himself and his courage.

The man eyed him, his blood-red hair, and his violet eyes.

"What is your name?" He asked, his voice like liquid silver.

Harry, whose vision had been directed at the floor and his shoes that were literally peeling apart, looked up quickly.

"Harry, sir. I'm sorry if I knocked you down."

"It was the crowd's fault, not yours."

Harry looked humored, his mood taking a one eighty.

"I am sure it was just my poor luck. Thank you for helping me stand up straight." The man looked mildly perplexed as Harry walked away, sickly smile painting his face.

No longer humming Nirvana songs, Harry looked straight ahead. Making sure his bangs were covering his slightly bleeding scar, Harry pushed open the pristine white doors of Gringotts wizard bank, and breathed out.

* * *

Draco stared at the grate as Severus flooed in through the emerald green flames. 

"'Lo Sev." Draco said as his godfather dusted himself off.

"Hello Draco. Are you ready to head to Diagon Ally?"

Draco nodded. "Did you just come from there?" He asked, motioning towards the package grasped in his hand.

"Yes. Where is your father."

"Here." Lucius extracted the package from Severus's hands.

"Thank you." He said awkwardly. "Lets be off."

"Indeed."

Draco raised his eyebrows, and then lowered them, storing away all thoughts for later days.

Draco rubbed his abdomen whilst they trekked through The Leaky Cauldron.

He heard Severus converse about whether he'd had another nightmare with his father, but tuned it all out to listen to the music he could hear at the back of his mind.

I will never bother you, I will never promise to never speak a word again, I will crawl away for good, I will move away from here, you wont be afraid of fear, no thought was put into this, I always knew it would come to this, things have never been this swell, I have never felt this well, pain…

Then it cut off and all he heard was a hazy silence.

He looked up and noticed that his father had been trying to achieve his attention.

"Yes father."

"I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes. I want you to go and buy robes while Severus and I go pick some things up."  
"Anywhere I want?" Draco asked, questioning about his future attire.

Lucius sucked in a trembling breathe.

"Yes." He said rigidly.

As Lucius and Severus retreated, he heard Severus ask his father if that was really that hard. His father mumbled that it was. Draco sniggered. His father was so particular with brand names as if they meant fine quality.

* * *

Harry ventured down the ally way. He had found his vault shallow but sufficient enough to get through his years. Possibly with the aid of Knut pinching and various summer jobs. 

Harry passed by robe shops, carrying packages of second hand course books and a dirty, graying raven he'd named Shane. He skipped on stone steps, making Shane screech.

"I love it when you screech, Shane. Never stop." He said cynically as he stopped in front of a thrift store called 'X.U.S thrift'.

Harry paused, staring at a moving dummy wearing a frayed purple dress, and entered after spotting a sign on the grimy glass window that said 'Hogwarts robes sold here'.

He swirled as he picked up a burlap shopping bag, grabbing single Knut pins of eyes, muggle bands, and dragonflies.

He also placed inside his bag a pair of thickly framed, black, square glasses to replace his various times broken round glasses.

Black boots for his slender white feet, lace gloves for his ashen hands.

A teal shoulder bag for his books. An aged bronze, Victorian cage for his raven Shane.

He tread towards the area labeled with a sign that said 'Hogwarts robes'.

Standing in his emaciated stature, Harry found it hard to find anything in his size.

Eventually he found something remote, maybe three volumes to large, but he had worn larger, much larger.

He was about to heave the set of robes into his bag, until he heard a distorted voice mumble something about 'Robes three sizes to small'.

* * *

Draco Malfoy stood, as if liberated, in front of a thrift store, something, of which, his father would never have aloud nor agreed to. 

He grinned crudely and ventured inward after noticing a sign stating that 'Hogwarts robes sold here'.

Whilst inside he carried black muggle jeans in his arms, and lace blouses around with him. He had glared at an older woman who had looked at his choice of tops in disdain.

"Reminds me of my aunt." A voice said close to his shoulder.

"Did you happen to mention something about robes three sizes to small?" Draco had turned slightly, searching for the small voice, finding a small mass to accompany it when he looked down slightly.

"Yes." Draco said, reaching up to wear he had hung the robes.

"I don't know what that woman's problem is. It is my choice in clothing, not her's."

Harry, whose voice was growing slightly stronger, smiled bitterly.

"My aunt called me a satanic homosexual for eight months when I forced my hair to grow long. I didn't know what I was doing at the time. I didn't know it was satanic."

"Muggle-born?" Draco asked, grinning, raging against his conformist father.

"Muggle-raised. They didn't tell me that my mother and father had been magically endowed." Harry proceeded to snort.

Draco lowered his eyebrows good-naturedly.

"Draco Malfoy." He said, extending his slender hand.

Harry grasped it with his, covered in a purple lace glove.

"Harry Potter."

Draco's face froze, but quickly swallowed his future reprimanding.

"I like your gloves."

* * *

Staring up at the plaster ceiling of his room at the leaky cauldron, Harry involuntarily picked at his scar, drawing blood that matched his hair to a t as he thought of Draco, Draco oppressing but compassionate father, stoctic and silent Severus Snape, and of himself in there presence. 

Harry rolled over, glancing at the high mirror. He stared himself down, squinting his eyes, and then glaring.

"That is not very nice deary!" The mirror said to him indignantly.

"Sit on it!" He said bitterly, chucking his old high top at its dull, reflective surface, shattering his own reflection.

Harry smiled, and nodded off, awaiting the coming school year three weeks after his wake.

* * *

Sitting on his plush silver carpet, Draco listened to a slightly erratic heartbeat at the back of his mind as he thought of his day in past tense, Harry Potter, and how he had come across. His father hadn't been that haughty when it came to meeting Harry and him whilst he'd looked for books. 

Severus had been cool, remaining silent, as he'd processed Harry with his mind. Draco knew that look.

Harry was… to put it bluntly; bitter for someone so young, bottling up a lot of emotion for one so literally tall.

Harry stood at five foot against Draco's slightly more built build of five foot five inches.

The one thing that had really gotten to him was that Harry Potter seemed to really loathe his scar. He had covered it up with his crimson hair throughout the whole day. Draco had noticed that it was slightly swollen and bloody when Harry had wiped his sweaty bangs whilst in a crowd of many in a popular bookstore.

Maybe Harry was agoraphobic, maybe Harry was abused, and maybe Harry was sick…

Draco fell asleep on his plush carpet; thinking of Harry and drinking in the erratic heartbeat at the back of his mind.

* * *

Author Note: I know that it is highly unorthodox, but it will get better, get more interesting, you know. 

Please read and review.

The sixth book sucked, I'm already impaled…

Remember, flames burn.

Blasphemy Maker


	2. Chapter 2

T**he Violet Eyes of Malfoys**

By Blasphemy Maker

Chapter One

The first week of his freedom passed in motley silence as Harry exercised the remains of his self-control, not returning to 'X.U.S thrift', or buying a large crate of blood flavored candies that had grown fairly fond of.

The first week, he did venture into muggle London, in the bad company that was Shane tailing him.

He'd bought hair dye for later days, a top hat for winter, and a large amount of vinyl records of which nearly got him arrested if not shot. Lesson learned that day: Crazy muggles carry guns … do not, and I repeat, DO NOT attempt to take vinyl records from under the noses of mad muggles. YOU WILL GET SHOT AT and possibly blamed for the situation.

Three stark, deafening weeks after the incident, of which Harry had spent reading textbooks and muggle romance novels, listening to music, and sleeping until noon for the first time in his unnaturally born life, it was finally time for his Hogwarts unveiling.

Needless to say, his last attempt at getting a proper nights sleep did not turn out to be all that relaxing seeing as Shane, the raven, would not cease his innate squawking.

In an attempt to silence Shane, Harry bought a muggle sewing kit, threading yellow ribbon into a massive sewing needle, and brought the needle down in though the soft flesh on the extended part of his arm.

Letting out the piercing scream of years of pent up cold-blooded rage, the grizzled bird was scared into a damaged silence.

That was two weeks ago, Shane still has not expressed a sound. Harry tends to mutter at him insanely, calling him a 'gory pessimistic bird' compassionately. It turns out that it wasn't all Shane's fault that Harry had extreme insomnia.

Stark, distorted music filtered in and out of Harry's derelict room at the Leaky cauldron as Harry played acid washed records from the thrift store he christened as his own.

Pulling on a black and white stripped, fitted sweater and black jeans, Harry noticed the still existent and fairly new welts on his thighs.

"Beautiful freak." Harry mumbled mockingly.

Harry did his hair up into twin blood-red braids, his eyes painted in charcoal. He looked very androgynous and oddly abstract.

Harry placed all his things soundlessly into his black, lacquered chest, which he had carved into one insomniatic night prior.

Harry, who had been practicing doing uncomplicated to complex spells with his new wand, preformed a small cleaning spell over his sheets, removing all traces of his flesh scorching urine.

Dragging his trunk down the spindly stairs, Harry attempted to produce a levitation charm on his trunk; it feebly was achieved, but broke down halfway out the door as Harry's concentration was misdirected.

Harry was hurtled towards the ground as he stared at a morose looking Draco eating breakfast with his father.

Draco's father, Lucius, looked up at the commotion of Harry being half crushed by his engraved trunk.

"You know you love me." Harry said unconvincingly, grimacing, as he approached Draco, his trunk trailing behind him with help from Lucius.

"I do." Draco said dully, grinning down at him.

"Jaded, dainty little Draco, going to wait until they send a limousine for you?" Lucius asked his drab son.

Draco frowned.

"Go on with Harry," He pulled his son in close. "I'll see you at Christmas, the love is all ways there." He whispered.

"In all ways. Good bye father."

Draco's deep green trunk was piled atop Harry's, still under the spell so that it was to tail them on their way to Platform 9 ¾. Harry wondered how many muggles they would disturb merit to their self-propelling trunks.

Draco sat atop the pile as Harry skipped out of the Leaky Cauldron ahead of him.

Whilst on their trek to Platform 9 ¾, Harry began singing under his breath about fading stars manically.

Draco, who had recently moved from his perch above the trunk, was slightly confounded.

He had tried calling Harry's name but found it simply made his sing more ineffectively.

Finally he placed his hand on Harry's shoulder causing Harry to flinch immensely.

"'M sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm-" Harry's pathetic rant was cut off by Draco who had pulled him into a loose hug. Harry stood rigidly in Draco strong but subtle embrace.

"Harry, there is nothing to be sorry for, I just wanted to see you conscious." Draco muttered as he brought them both to eye level.

He stared into Harry's violet eyes, blood red irises glinting.

"Come on," He said, breaking eye contact. "We'll be late for the train lest we move foreword."

Harry nodded, pallid cheeks tinted red, obviously ashamed of his outburst as he regularly is.

They proceeded to trudge foreword, past the biased onlookers whom they both flipped the middle finger towards.

As they walked, Harry noticed Draco's attire. A long, black, feathered skirt and a black trench coat over a simple grey t-shirt.

"Not subtle at all, are you Draco?"

Draco grinned at him.

"Trying to find an identity that does not resemble my father's always includes skirts of a sort."

"He called you jagged."

"He called you a bad influence."

"He seems nice."

"That's about right."

Harry questioned Draco about this 'mysterious' Platform 9 ¾. Draco proceeded to tell him that all you had to do was stride casually into the brick wall. The rest of their trip consisted of Harry walking randomly into stone and brick walls, the pair receiving dirty looks, and Draco repeatedly rolling his eyes good-naturedly.

Harry sat down, not on the plush, velvet train seat, but upon the slightly dust coated floor. Draco sat beside him as the train began to move.

"What do we do now?" Harry asked quietly, as if a loud sound might shatter the panes of glass separating them from the free world.

"I don't know," Draco whispered, quieter than Harry. "Perhaps we scream."

Harry took clumps of Draco's platinum blond hair in his hands, braiding it loosely.

"What is your favorite color?" Harry asked, parting Draco's hair into sections.

"Midnight blue. Yours?"

"Sun-burnt orange. Food?"

Draco's cheeks reddened slightly.

"Muggle Cheetoes."  
"I figured. Puffy, right?"

"How did you know that?" Draco asked fluidly.

Harry just cracked him an extravagant white smile.

"I will never tell…?" He said, almost question-like. "I don't know." He admitted.

"What is your favorite food?" Draco looked at Harry's insubstantial frame, wincing.

"Peaches, and cigarettes," He said, laughing. "But mostly peaches." He sounded odd. Draco decided not to ask.

An hour pasted, Draco's hair finally done up into muddled braids, until their conversation gained fuel and Draco bought chocolate frogs from the food cart for Harry and himself.

"Draco, if you really want to differentiate yourself from your father, which I know you do, for it is practically oozing off of you and saturating those around you, then you should go out of your way to disconcert yourself."

"Nice." Draco said dully, but pleased.

"I know," Harry began, crawling to his knees in an attempt to reach his carry on bag.

Harry grabbed it, proceeding to empty it of its relics.

_A potions book, a muggle novel, pens, a notebook, and two bottles of what looked like thick, gluttonous poison._

"Going to kill me, or just knock me out for a few hours whilst you pretend to be me?" Draco said touchily.

"Damn Purebloods." Harry mumbled under his breath, clear enough for Draco to hear. "It is hair dye."

"No."

"You will love it." Harry said airily.

"No."

"It is part of the 12 step program to differentiate you from your father."

"No." Draco whined petulant.

"Lucius jr."

Draco whimpered.

"If you don't like it I can bleach it back, Draco." Said Harry, picking up a large jar of Vaseline.

Draco stuck his tongue out at him.

"All I long for is human affection and to dye your hair midnight blue."

Needless to say, Draco ended up with dark blue streaks marring his platinum blond locks, no longer braided of course, but hanging bountifully off his shoulders.

Harry ended up with streaks of orangey-magenta maiming his ruby tresses.

They washed the remaining dye out in the lavatory sink of the Hogwarts express, staining the immaculate white sink orange-magenta and blue eternally, or at least until someone found a muggle stain removing charm.

Thank you all for your reviews.

Flames still burn.

I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K. except the plot and my defects.

Sorry for the wait, not for my exceeding weight. The computers at the library would not let me upload new chapters.

REVIEW PLEASE!


	3. Chapter 3

The Violet eyes of Malfoys 

By Blasphemy Maker

Chapter Two

The golden doors of Hogwarts School glinted in the distance as all the first years and their keeper glided gently across the lake.

Harry Potter, whose hair was once again elegantly twisted into twin ruby braids, his matching circlet reflecting against the golden doors, recoiled.

He was sitting beside Draco, opposite of two other first years, in a boat of wood and vinyl.

He thought of the vinyl records at the bottom of his self-engraved trunk and grinned, exposing his sharp white teeth, disturbing the anonymous others apposing him.

The female, bushy hair slightly glossed, flinched at the sight of him, making Harry giggle. The male simply gave him a disgusted look. Draco took one of Harry's small, pallid hands in his own.

"Vinyl?" He asked quietly, bending his platinum blond head, newly streaked with midnight blue.

"Vinyl." Harry confirmed, shacking his carroty-pink streaked red braids.

Harry reached up and clutched a lock of Draco pretty new hair. He squealed slightly.

"My sweet little non-conformist."

"Pissing off daddy in 12 easy steps. Did you just squeal?"

"No." He said slowly and unconvincingly. "Have you ever identified your father as daddy to his face?"

"No."

"Are you two purebloods or muggle borns? You look like purebloods but remind me of a couple of muggles who live down the street where I live."

Harry stilled, but answered her proudly.

"Half blood, muggle raised. How about you Draconis."

Draco sneered in his direction. "Ewe, I'm pure, get it off me, GET IT OFF ME!"

The first year's keeper, a fairly large, gruff looking man appeared alarmed.

"You firs' years have'n trouble?"

"TO PURE!" Draco shrieked. "TO PURE!"

Harry made a sickly sound as they finally reached shore. Whilst exiting the boat, Harry reached a cupped hand into the lake, feeding the lake water into his mouth. His boat mates had frozen, staring at him.

"Tastes like piss." Harry muttered, glaring at them. Draco rolled his eyes, offering Harry his arm.

Harry and Draco skipped their way towards what Harry was inadvertently calling 'The Golden Gates of Hell' where they pilfer your freedom and corrupt your lingering senses. But really Harry was grateful, for he no longer had to glance at the Dursleys, hear their taunting, or feel their hands upon him for many, many months, possibly never again if he were to become luck filled all of a sudden.

Draco sneezed.

"What?" Harry asked, glancing up expectantly.

"I think I'm allergic to mudbloods." He said sardonically.

Harry glared at him leaning in closer. Then he spoke again.

"That was mean." He said humored, motioning toward the well-versed muggleborns who stood in a circle to the right of them. Expressions of there faces as if they had been freshly slapped where they stood.

"Pardon." Draco said to them peevishly, as if recently reprimanded.

They all stood in the entrance hall in small clusters, Harry leaning against Draco's chest, his waste long wine- and- orangey- pink colored braids pulled over his shoulders. Draco held onto them in an attempt at closeness that he could not feel with anyone else, and they both exhaled contently.

The large black doors inside the entrance hall arbitrarily stirred and in walked a well-aged woman, shiny grey hair pulled up into an simple knot, voice stern, posture screaming refined, nothing less.

She spoke her own name, Professor McGonagall, of Hufflepuff, Slytherin, Ravenclaw, and Gryffindor, house points and rule breaking, dress codes and cool temperament, straightened herself, and then proceeded to lead the way through the closed doors that open at her will.

Harry entered the great hall, and proceeded to grow very faint.

Humans 

His mind screamed. Draco pulled him closer as they strode ahead, rubbing circles on his wrists and humming a sick little tune.

'_**O you may not think I'm pretty...'**_

Is all that Draco heard of the sorting hats song before his own sickly tune was blaring at the back of his mind. He drank as much of it in as he could before it stopped, Harry squeezed his hand and whispered to him that he needed to be stereotyped now.

Draco kept that in mind whilst he steadily walked up to the platform where the sorting hat was placed. He was supposed to be a stereotype, it was written in the ground, in cement, in the sand.

He remembered burning it into his brain as he sat down, pulling the hat down over his eyes.

He could hear it blaring at the back of his mind. Especially when the hat called out Gryffindor at the top of it's lungs, and Draco smiled, a fevered smile mind you, but still a smile.

He looked up at the head table, catching the mouthed words of his godfather: 'Your father is going to be so pissed.' and the thumbs up sign that was flashed in an attempt to be encouraging.

He then peered at Harry with apprehensive eyes. Harry grinned at him, mouthing: 'Your father is going to be so pissed!' Excitedly, practically jumping up and down. Draco rolled his eyes warmly and proceeded to trek towards his new house table.

Harry, who at the moment was still in a slight euphoria of Draco raging against the machine that happened to be his father, didn't notice when his name was called out, but snapped back to reality as people began to speculate.

"That's Harry Potter?" 

"_Sick!"_

"_Savior?"_

"_Murderer?"_

"_That kid is completely mad!"_

"What the fuck?" Harry said harshly, growing severely uncomfortable.

He stood rigidly, swiftly making his way towards the sorting hat.

He sat down; blocking all of there biased faces out as he pulled the large, frayed hat over his eyes.

'_Place me where I am meant to go.' _Hethought ruefully.

'**Are you sure you wouldn't rather be placed with your best friend, in his already established house?' **The hat contrived.

'Am I destined for Gryffindor?' Harry asked petulantly. 

'**No.' **it said, most definitely.

'Then…' Harry said agitated, being cut off quickly. 

"**Slytherin." **The hat announced aloud.

The great hall went silent. Anonymous people began to boo, but Draco clapped. People sneered.

"Sit on it." Harry snarled, silencing all except for Draco.

From behind him, he could hear someone snorting.

Harry turned around and caught the eye of Draco's godfather, potions master and professor, Severus Snape.

"Slytherin." Snape said darkly, nodding his head towards Harry.

"Professor." Harry nodded back, breathing hotly. He walked slowly and steadily past all of the students, whom still remained silent. He walked up to a desolate spot at the Slytherin house table and sat down, raising his goblet to Draco across the hall from him, and the sorting proceeded on.

Harry sat, eating nothing, staring down all those surrounding him.

Beside him sat a boy, mud brown curly hair lank, charcoal eyes glinting as he sketched away on pristine white sketchbook paper with a quill.

He diverted his eyes back Draco, where they had been previously.

Draco's pale purple and mercury eyes stared at him imploringly. Draco appeared lonesome.

Harry turned to the little drawing boy.

"May I borrow a piece of your paper and your quill for a par-second?"

The boy nodded dismally, handing Harry the paper and making him smile slightly.

'Speak' is what Harry wrote on the paper, holding it up for Draco to see. 

Draco sighed, but smiled back at Harry, turning his attention to a sandy haired boy who looked glumly back at him.

"I'm Harry." Harry said bluntly, handing the boy back his quill. "Hi."

"I'm Theodore Nott." The boy whispered in monotone. "I hate politics and conservatives, like sugar and the color green, and love your skin." He finished frankly. Harry's smile broadened.

"I like you, Theodore."

Across the Great hall sat a stocky boy, sandy brown hair neck length, blue eyes showing signs of desolation, writing with a black ink pen in a journal, pondering whether he should speak to anyone.

Draco Malfoy, who sat beside the boy, gazed longingly at Harry Potter, blond and blue hair looking oddly wilted.

Draco watched as Harry looked at him with a strange glint in his eye, turned to a fellow Slytherin, and scribbled on something borrowed from the boy.

Harry held the paper up high enough for him to see.

'**Speak'**.

Draco sighed, but smiled up at Harry. He appreciated encouragement.

Draco turned towards the boy beside him who was practically oozing melancholy, staring momentarily at the sign.

"Malice or Mirth?" The boy asked quietly.

Draco looked at him strikingly.

"Malice." He said harshly. Neville smiled.

"I'm Neville." He said, offering his hand.

"Draco Malfoy."


End file.
